A species of vertigo seized him. But the letter, written in his son’s own hand, and addressed to the Mother Abbess of the Convent of the Sisters of Wisdom near Blaye in the district of Santonge, dated a little over five years previously, exercised a powerful effect upon him. ‘En tout cas, it is not up at all, but down. "Bravo, Poll!" cried Jack, who having again pinioned Shotbolt, was now tracing a few hasty lines on a sheet of paper. There are no funerals among the poor, only burials. Then he turned round and gazed thoughtfully at the particular spot in the fog where Courtlaw had disappeared.
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